A Boy and His Dog

I had a good thing going. It was easy. It was simple. It gave The Boy such satisfaction: the relationship he had with his beloved blue sidekick, a ragtag little dog named Bobo. I'm not sure who passed this small stuffed gift-from-God to him the day of my/his baby shower, but I know that they probably had no idea at the time what effect that precious pooch would have on Matt. Bobo is a trusted friend, never far from his side when duty calls: bedtime, belly aches, even stealing away in his backpack and secretly hanging out at preschool a few times last year when Matt was still unsure of the whole "higher education" thing.

Their pairing started out like this. A sweet, quiet and cuddly something to catch a few zzz's with.

As time passed and The Boy grew older, Bobo became a wrestling buddy.



Matt's down.



Bobo's down.



I don't think a move like that is sanctioned.



Love again.

The Boy grew older still and we decided to bring him to the land of his (partial) heritage. For fear of many sleepless nights, we paid for a seat for Bobo, and he travelled the countryside with us.

Bobo napping in the rental.

Bobo in Florence.

Bobo at The Vatican. They wouldn't let him in (pants are required).

Bobo at the Coliseum.

Bobo and The Boy, looking longingly at the land of their ancestors. Wind in their hair and all.

This dog has been faithful, loyal, obedient, and respectful of all things MINE. He never once dug a hole, peed in my living room, tore through a sofa cushion, decapitated a garden hose, or rendered an innocent screen door a doggie-door with his own brute force. So why, I ask you, WHY (other than my own stupidity and guilt over the ridiculous "only-child" thing), would I purchase THIS?!

Miss Ruby. Part good dog/part Lucifer.

The moral of this story, my friends: if you ever feel guilt over not giving your kid a flippin' sibling, get over yourself. The child will survive. Your sofa and your garden hose, on the other hand...